For the Better
by bohogirl
Summary: Angel tells the story of her past to Collins, getting into why she is where she is today. Rated M for one small sex scene.


**Title:** For the Better  
**Author:** Jen  
**Rating:** Hard R for a sexual scene could be NC-17  
**Feedback:** I truly love it and smile whenever I get any.  
**Pairing: **Angel/Collins  
**Word Count:** 3653  
**Warnings:** A non consensual scene near the end. Not rape, however. Slash in a loose sense. Crossing dressing? Does that need a warning?  
**Disclaimer:** Rent belongs to Jonathan Larson. May he rest in peace.  
**Summary:** Angel tells the story of her past to Collins.  
**Note:** One doesn't really need to know about Rent to read this. It's Angel telling her beloved Collins about growing up. Also, thank you to lj users: electrakitty74, pyralisha, and bronzinit for looking it over and helping with the Spanish that stupid babel fish gave me. There's a bit at the end that translates the Spanish. If anything seems off let me know and I'll fix it! This will be multi-part. Probably three. For visual notes, Tom Collins is Jesse L. Martin, and Angel is a cross between Wilson Jermaine Heredia and Jai Rodriguez.

Tom Collins entered the small apartment he was sharing with his lover, Angel Dumott-Schunard. Technically speaking, they were squatting but no one had thrown them out yet so they continually added small things to make it more of a home. He dropped his bag at the door, flung off his shoes, and headed towards the small kitchen, following the faint sounds of music.

"Hey, baby," he whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek. "What are you listening to?"

"All Because of You by U2." Angel turned her head and gave Collins a smile. "It...speaks to me, I guess."

"Yeah?" Collins whispered, his fingers playing with the soft bit of hair at the nape of her neck. "How so?"

Angel shrugged. "Dunno. 'I was born a child of grace, nothing else about the place.' Reminds me of what Mama used to say home was like before I was born and we moved to America."

Collins nodded his head slowly. He knew little of Angel's life before they'd met; just that she'd been born in Puerto Rico. "Angel-baby, can I ask you something?"

Angel cocked her head to the side. "Yeah, sweetie, sure."

"Can you tell me about growing up? I want to know more about you."

Angel sighed and dried her hands on a towel. "Let's sit, ok?"

Collins followed Angel into their makeshift living room, sinking into the soft torn couch they'd pulled out of the trash a few weeks prior.

"Well, you know I was born just outside of San German. It was late June in 1969..."

Angel was born Angel Hernandez just weeks after his father had died. The neighborhood celebrated his arrival with gifts and food for his mother the day he was brought home. Every woman in the small village was willing to help Carmen out with her son in any way possible.

He was the delight of the small village, one of only a few male children who lived past his first birthday. He was doted upon and coddled in every way possible, the apple of everyone's eye.

When he was two, his mother finally decided he needed a father figure. Angel was becoming far too feminine in many ways and his future worried her. She wanted her son to grow up big and strong and to reward her with many grandchildren.

A young American named Greg Dumott was stationed just a few miles from their village at the military base. He met Carmen one night at the bar she worked at. While attracted to his soft, wavy brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes, what got her the most was his offer of a chance to move to America, escape the poverty stricken Puerto Rico, and give her son a father.

It was a marriage of convenience for them both. She needed a father and he needed a family to help keep in line for a promotion at his job when he was done with his term of service.

They moved to America in the fall of 1971 from Puerto Rico where the only light in Carmen's life was her son to a small town just outside of Chicago. Carmen and Angel entered the country under Greg's last name, only Carmen's halting English and their complexion giving away their true heritage.

Angel took quickly to Greg, following him wherever he went while chattering in a nonsensical mixture of the Spanish he'd learned back home and the English he was quickly picking up. To his credit, Greg never turned his back on the small boy. He would often place Angel on his shoulders and bring him into work. The women would fawn over his soft chestnut skin, dark expressive eyes, and his head of dark brown curls that fell softly into his face. It was obvious he and Greg weren't blood relatives but a small bond formed quickly between the two.

When Angel was five, Greg and Carmen agreed to divorce. Greg had met someone he truly loved and though he did love Carmen and Angel, he wanted to move on with his life. It was peaceful and done with quickly. Greg gave Carmen enough to rent an apartment and although it wasn't required, sent a check every few months for Angel's care.

Angel cried when his only father figure left, leaving him confused and worried his mother might soon leave. He cried himself to sleep nearly every night despite his mother's insistence she would never leave him.

Greg soon vanished into a few small memories, fading from Angel's mind much like Puerto Rico had. He got a new father in his life at age seven when his mother married Nick Schunard, a butcher who moved them into a small tenement deep in the city. Nick immediately claimed Angel as his own, quickly adopting him. Not wishing for any trouble from INS, Carmen opted to keep Dumott as part of her son's name, giving him a name far too big for his small stature.

It took Angel a while to accept Nick, distant memories of Greg still in his mind but when he was eight, his mother became pregnant, sending him clinging to Nick's leg for comfort.

Two girls were born over the years and by the time he was thirteen, Angel had become an outcast in his own family. Nick focused most of his time on his daughters, choosing to ignore the boy he'd been so willing to take in while his mother devoted her free time to making new clothing for her beloved daughters to wear.

Angel often wondered if maybe he was really supposed to be a girl. His curly hair, soft face, and gently nature weren't signs of the strong male both his mother and Nick wanted him to be. He was often picked on in school and called a girl. To make things even harder, he wasn't attracted to girls but boys instead.

When he was fourteen, Nick caught him masturbating with a body builder magazine in his hand. He ripped it away and angrily told Angel only girls liked looking at boys. Angel hung his head in shame, and nodded, trying to hide his tears as Nick ripped up the magazine and stormed out.

Nick and Carmen began fighting for hours on end about Angel, their voices easily filtering through the thin walls of their apartment. Nick was ready to disown him and send him out onto the street. Carmen, while not approving of her son's 'wicked' behavior, wanted to try and help him, wanting to keep her only son in her life.

The name calling began. Words like fag, queer, and homo entered the ears of his two baby sisters at the hands of their father. Angel was often chastised for being too girl like and sent to his room for nothing more then giggling along with the girls.

One day, just weeks before his fifteenth birthday, Angel was left alone while his mother and Nick went to his sisters' dance recital. He snuck into the main bedroom where his mother and Nick slept, heading swiftly towards her make up counter. He sat in her chair and started into the mirror. He took a deep breath and slowly began applying foundation, blush, lipstick, eyeshadow, everything he saw his mother apply every day. He struggled with the mascara, at first poking himself in the eye. Finally he opted to pry his eyelid open with his other hand, quickly applying it to his lashes. He looked at himself in the mirror. It was probably one of the worst make up jobs ever, the blush far too dark on one side, his lipstick too heavy and one eyelid held more eyeshadow then the other but he was proud of it.

Something was missing and Angel couldn't quite put his finger on it until he'd glanced at a photo taken two years ago. His sisters stood around their mother, all three in their Sunday best with their long, light brown hair tied back. Stuck in the girls' hair were small, red ribbons. Nick and Angel stood on Carmen's other side, dressed in dark suits. Angel knew what he needed.

He went into his mother's closet and quietly searched for a dress he hoped would fit, finally pulled out one he'd never seen her wear. It was small, tight, and red. Angel loved it immediately. He quickly peeled off his jeans and his t-shirt before slipping the smooth material over his head. The silky feeling of the soft fabric was foreign to his skin, used to the rough feeling of jeans, the cotton of his t-shirts, and the stiff collar of his church clothing. He headed into the bath room and surveyed himself in the mirror. He chewed his lower lip, smearing his lipstick. He looked like...a man, a boy rather, in a dress and nothing like a woman. He still needed something.

With a frustrated sigh, Angel buried his fingers into his soft curls. A thought hit him. The hair. He needed a wig. He knew his mother had a few, why he didn't know but he didn't care at that point in time. He headed back to his mother's closet. He dug through three boxes before pulling out a long, straight, ebony wig. Grinning, he placed the wig on his head and flew back into the bathroom.

He looked very bizarre and odd, at least to his Christian-raised brain. The wig didn't fit very well, his curls poking out from underneath it. His make up was smudged slightly from digging in the closet and the dress was wrinkled, but he felt oddly free. He felt ok, alive, whole for the first time in years. He spun in a circle, further displacing the wig but not caring. To really complete the outfit, he went back again to his mother's closet and stuck his feet into a pair of her heels. Now he felt good. Perhaps all the years of being called a girl hadn't been as far off as everyone liked to think. Maybe he really was a girl, just born with the wrong parts.

It took Angel a while to get used to the heels throwing off his center of gravity but he managed to make it into the small living room that had been converted into his bedroom after the girls had been born. He knew he should change, they would be home soon. If Nick freaked at a magazine, he'd probably kill Angel for putting on a dress.

Sadly, he headed back into the bedroom and pulled off the dress and wig, kicking the shoes off. He put the shoes and wig back into their boxes and cleaned up the make up before putting his regular clothing back on. He splashed some water on his face, hoping to wash away the make up just as the door opened. Panicking, he quickly ran into the living room, shoving the dress into his school bag.

"Angel! Angel! I didn't fall over!" seven-year-old Margaret shrieked as she ran into the room. "I was so good!"

"Wonderful, Maggie," he said, grinning, hauling her up into his lap.

She gazed curiously at him, her eyebrows narrowed together. She reached out and gently ran her hand down Angel's cheek.

Angel's eyes widened in horror. He hadn't gotten all the make up off. He pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh, Mags. No digales," he muttered softly in Spanish, knowing Nick would never catch on.

Margaret looked at him for a beat before she nodded her head, and wrapped her arms around Angel's neck.

He rubbed her back and gave her a quick squeeze before five-year-old Madeline interrupted them.

"Angie! Angie! I..." Madeline stopped and starred at her brother. "You have make up on!"

Angel paled as he carefully nudged Margaret off his lap. Nick glared in his direction before he stormed over. He pulled Angel up to his feet and forced his stepson to look into his eyes.

"What is this?"

"No...nothing," Angel stammered out.

"Yeah. Right," he scoffed. "I've had enough of this shit. You're a horrible image for my girls and a disappointment to your mother and myself. You'll stop this behavior now, you little fag."

Angel's breathing picked up as he struggled with a reply. He looked down at Madeline, her dark green eyes wide with fear and then at Margaret who tugged gently at her father's shirt. He couldn't make them live like this anymore, hearing yelling, screaming, and words no small child should hear.

"You'll do what I say or so help me god..."

Angel locked his eyes with Nick's. He knew at that point if he was ever going to have a chance at a peaceful life, he would have to stand up and fight. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Yes, I can. You live under my roof, wear clothes I bought for you. I've raised you, you little bastard. You'll listen to me."

Angel looked around and saw his mother standing quietly in the kitchen, tears on her cheek. "Lo siento, Mamá," he whispered before turning back to Nick. "You're not my father," he shouted, pulling his arm free from Nick's grip. "And you never were."

"Angel, mi hijo..." Carmen said, her voice soft and quiet as she approached the pair. "No haga esto."

"Lo siento, Mamá. No puedo permanecer aquí," he replied, leaning over and kissing her cheek. "Te quiero, Mamá. Y las muchachas. Seré fino. " He turned and faced his stepfather. "I'm leaving. Since you don't want me here."

"Smart idea, boy."

Angel ignored him and knelt before Margaret, her eyes filled with tears. "No llore, Maggie. Te quiero y yo le perderé. Sea buena para Mamá."

Margaret nodded and wrapped her arms around Angel's neck again.

He kissed her cheek and turned to Madeline who lowered her head. He placed a singer under her chin and slowly raised her head. "No seas triste, Maddie. Esto es para el mejor." He hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead. "Quédate dulce."

Angel stood, glared at his stepfather, and grabbed his school bag. He pulled out his books and quickly shove some clothing in, but Nick roughly grabbed his sleeve, pulling him to his feet.

"That's plenty. Get out you little fag. I don't want to see or hear your name again."

Angel zipped his bag up and slung it over his shoulder. He didn't say another word as he stormed out of the apartment building.

He was halfway down the block when he realized he only had $13 in his pocket. He didn't know what he was going to do. He was fourteen and on the street.

The rain began to fall slowly, washing away the remaining make-up, smearing his cheeks as he slowly walked through the streets. He was getting cold and wet as night fell.

He dug through his bag and pulled out a sweatshirt, quickly shoving it over his wet body before continuing down the street. He had to find the bus station and get out of this city.

"Looking for something, kid?" a voice asked.

Angel turned. "Um...just the bus station," he said nervously. Living in the limits of Chicago had taught him who to avoid and the man standing before him fell into that category. It wasn't how he looked because he looked like everyone else on the street but a vibe he got as the man leaned against a wall, a sly grin on his face.

"Got much money on you?"

Angel nervously shuffled his feet. "Enough, I guess," he lied.

"You know, a pretty face like yourself shouldn't be out alone." He took a drag of his cigarette. "I can give you a ride and if you don't something for me, maybe, I can help you with your bus ticket."

Angel swallowed nervously. He knew he shouldn't go with the man but he really needed to get out of this city and away from the horrible memories. He slowly nodded his head. "Ok," he whispered as the man slowly lead him towards a beat up car. Something in Angel's gut told him this was a bad idea but he ignored it and crawled in anyways.

The man looked over and grinned as he pulled the car out into the streets and drove. "So what's your name?"

"A..Angel."

"Angel. So you're...innocent?" The man reached over and ran his hand slowly up Angel's leg. "How old are you, Ang?"

"Four...fourteen," Angel stammered out, wanting to pull away from the man's touch in disgust but knowing his only option was going out the door.

"Fourteen? Just a baby then." The man ran a finger down Angel's cheek and smiled. "I'm glad I found you. Instead of someone else."

"How far to the..."

"Far enough. I'll take you there, no worries."

They road in silence for several minutes as the rain slowly died down. Soon Angel could see the signs for the bus station. He started to tense up, wondering exactly what this man would want in return.

"I'll drop you off up here, Angel, but first, I need you to do something. If you do it well, I'll give you some money for a bus."

"What?" Angel whispered.

The man smiled and pulled over. "You'll see. Come with me."

Angel quietly followed the man down the lighted streets. They turned down a dark alley. Angel's heart was pounding in his chest.

The man unbuttoned his pants. "Down on your knees, kid."

Angel narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What?"

The man looked up as he shoved his jeans around his ankles. "Your payment. Get down on your knees and put those pretty lips of your around my cock."

Angel started to look around nervously, wanting to run.

"Don't think of running, kid." The man grabbed Angel's arm as his other hand reached into his boxers and pulled out his hard organ. He shoved Angel down to the ground. "Do it and I'll give you whatever you need to get wherever you want to go. Do a good job and maybe I'll give you a little extra."

Angel was panicking now, his breath coming quick as he struggled with what to do. He could be hurt, killed if he ran. But he didn't want do anything like this, not with someone he just met.

"Do it, kid. Now." The man gripped Angel's curls and pulled his head towards his cock. "If you don't, I swear to god, you won't know which end is up."

Angel closed his eyes, fighting back the tears as he slowly wrapped his lips around the man's cock. He barely remembered anything about the event, just the man's groans, the feeling of the hard organ in his mouth, and his own erection pressing against his jeans. He remembered the man exploding in his mouth, struggling to swallow the fluid as the man shouted at him to take it all. Some trickled out of the corner of his mouth, and the man slapped him, forcing him to drop the withering cock from his mouth.

"Your first time, huh, kid?"

Angel nodded as he sat on the cold, wet ground, wiping his face of the sticky liquid. "Yeah."

The mane scoffed. "Figured." He tucked himself back into his boxers and pulled up his jeans. "Suppose it was alright for a first time." He pulled out a wad of bills and tossed several onto the ground. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it."

Angel sat on the ground for several minutes, listening as the man left and drove off. After he was sure the man was gone, he gathered up the money, nearly $150 and jammed it in his pocket before grabbing his bag and running into the bus station. He looked at all the various destinations and settled on New York City. It had always been a dream to go there, hearing so much about it at school and in books. He walked slowly up to the ticket booth, hoping he had enough money.

"Can I get a ticket to New York?"

The woman behind the desk glared at him. "How old are you, son?"

"Sixteen," he lied. "I'm...I'm going to visit my father."

She eyed him for a moment before ringing him up. "$55.50."

He slipped the money towards her. "Thank you," he whispered as he took his change and his ticket.

"It leaves in a half hour. You'll need to start boarding soon."

Angel nodded and quickly headed off searching for his bus. He was still upset from his encounter with the man who was allowing him to leave the city. He couldn't make himself talk to anyone, not even to ask for directions

The bus driver on the first bus he tried to board pitied him and quietly brought him to the right line. "You'll be leaving soon, son. Good luck."

Angel quickly boarded the bus and sat in the very back. His hair was slowly drying from the rain and now an unruly mess from being uncombed and from the man forcing him down to the ground. He ran his fingers through it as best he could, attempting to tame it. He'd always liked his curly hair but now it simply reminded him of how childlike he looked, of his past. He sighed and leaned his head back against the seat. He was about to fall asleep when he remembered something. He quickly opened his bag and dug through it before finally finding the red dress. He pulled it out and lightly fingered the material. He made a resolve to change things when he got to New York. For the better.

"Is it better, baby?" Collins asked, pulling Angel from her story.

Angel cocked her head to the side, smiling as she gazed at Collins. "Of course, sweetie. Not before it got worse though."

Spanish Translations:

No diales: Don't tell, Don't tell themselves

Lo siento, Mama: I'm sorry, Mom (Mama)

Mi hijo, No haga esto: My son, don't do this.

Lo siento, Mama. No puedo permanecer aqui. Te quiero, Mama. Y las muchachas. Seré fino: I'm sorry, Mama. I can't stay here. I love you, Mama. And the girls. I'll be fine.

No llore, Maggie. Te quiero y yo le perdere. Sea buena para Mama.: Don't cry, Maggie. I love you and I'll miss you. Be good for Mama.

No seas triste, Maddie. Esto es para el mejor. Quedate dulce: Don't be sad, Maddie. It's for the best. Stay sweet.


End file.
